Page 45 of Emerald

Despite the ridiculousness of our exchange, I know it's not going to let me go anytime soon. And even if it did, where would I go? The thought makes my stomach clench. I have no idea what's out there in this alien world. The caves seem endless, and who knows what kind of creatures or dangers lurk in the darkness.

Still, a part of me—maybe the stubborn, rebellious part—wants to try. I want to escape, to get out of here and find a way back home, even if the odds are stacked against me. But right now, I'm stuck, with only this strange alien as my captor and the constant, unsettling feeling that my body is changing in ways I don't understand.

I lean my head back against the cave wall and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

One step at a time, Olivia. One step at a time. One, two, five—

I stop myself with a vigorous shake of my head. I’m not going back to that mental spiral.

After a few moments, the cave falls into a tense silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the stalactites above. Kroaicho shifts slightly, its bioluminescent skin flickering faintly as it settles into a more comfortable position. For all its bluster and stubbornness, it almost seems… relaxed.

The calm doesn't last long. My mind keeps wandering back to the unsettling sensation running through my body, the odd warmth pooling deep in my gut that I can't quite place. It's distracting, and no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling. Worse, every time I glance at Kroaicho, the sensation only intensifies.

I force my gaze away from the alien, staring hard at the glowing mushrooms on the cave floor.

Focus, Olivia. Focus.

But it's no use. The strange warmth in my body is impossible to ignore, and I can feel my skin heating up, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

It’s not someone… something that can help me with this. Clearly those fucking slimy aliens did something to me.

And even if they hadn’t, and Kroaicho was perfectly normal, it’s not as if the couple times I let a guy stick it in was pleasant.

They just called me stiff and a bad fuck.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will the sensation away, but it lingers, buzzing just beneath the surface, relentless.

This is so unfair,I moan internally.

Kroaicho, oblivious to my struggle, remains across the cave, its attention elsewhere. It hums softly to itself, a low, rhythmic sound that echoes faintly through the cavern. The noise should be soothing, but right now, it's only making things worse.

I bury my face in my hands, willing the heat in my cheeks to fade. I've been through hell for weeks, fought for my life, and faced unimaginable dangers, and this—this ridiculous, embarrassing problem—is what's throwing me off balance.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. "I can't deal with this right now."

Kroaicho glances in my direction, its glowing eyes narrowing slightly, but it doesn't say anything. Good. The last thing I need is another awkward conversation with the alien.

I shift in my spot, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, trying to focus on anything other than the strange, unwelcome heat in my body. The cave remains silent, and for now, that's enough.

***

I glance over at Kroaicho, who is now silent in its corner of the cave, its skin dimming to a soft blue-gray. For now, it seems content to ignore me, and that's just fine… except I’m starting to feel lonely and desperate to talk.

I didn’t think I would ever feel like that and it’s setting my teeth on edge. I’ve never been particularly successful at getting along with people, but ever since Kroaicho trapped me here I keep thinking about people. I need someone to connect with who understands.

Someone to talk to about how I think I’m losing my mind. That I’m aroused by… that multi-color oaf. About how messed up my head is with the fact that it doesn’t seem to be having the same issue or even be the slightest bit interested, which is not what I would expect from a kidnapper.

This arousal is infuriating. The strange warmth pooling in my gut refuses to subside, and I need something—anything—to distract myself.

My eyes land on a thin rock near the edge of the cave floor, half-buried in the dirt. I lean forward and pick it up, the rough texture familiar under my fingers, and before I know it, I'm dragging the tip across the cave floor, sketching lines into the dust.

At first, it's just random squiggles, but soon, I find myself drawing something more intentional. A pattern I remember from my childhood, a tattoo my cousin had shown me once when I was younger. It was a traditional maori design, an intricate mix of spirals and curves representing fertility.

I wish I knew then just how important it would be to me… when it was already too late.

I pause for a second, staring at the lines I've etched into the dirt, my brow furrowing. Fertility. The irony isn't lost on me, given my current situation. A reproduction tattoo seems painfully relevant right now, considering the strange sensations roiling inside me.

Of all the things to come to mind, Olivia. Seriously?

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